


Hitman: Rage

by DDBB19



Category: Hitman (2007), Hitman (Video Games), Hitman - All Media Types, Hitman: Absolution, Hitman: Agent 47 (2015), Hitman: Enemy Within
Genre: Assassin Training, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadpan, Deadpan Sarcasm, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Violence, Hiding Medical Issues, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Protective Siblings, Sarcasm, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Survival Training, stealth training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7737343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDBB19/pseuds/DDBB19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't know who or what she is. All she remembers is someone screaming 'Failure' at someone else. She also remembers hearing a man drone on and on about experiments and sons and a load of crock!<br/>Observing a duo, she notes their professionalism and seriousness, as well as her instincts telling her to run as far and fast in the opposite direction. When the female leaves the building and everything goes up in flames with no sign of the male, she feels inclined to search for him, questioning his fate.<br/>Let's see what happens when she meets 47!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm such an idiot!

 The sound of the explosion resonated within her skull accompanying the mother of all headaches. Her ears were ringing and, was that blood? Coming from her ears? She’d just gotten him to safety when, boom! The shockwaves sent her flying twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away. Her landing wasn’t pretty, meaning she’d landed on a pile of rubble and had the wind knocked out of her. But she’d live, she hoped.  
 Earlier in the day, she’d watched as a man and woman entered the building. Both looking very serious and very professional. They seemed to pride themselves on that. But when the place went up in flames and only the woman came out, she **had** to see what happened to him. What she didn’t expect, was to find him out cold, lying next to a fire extinguisher with a bump the size of a football on the side of his head.  
 She didn’t know how to describe what she felt when she saw the pair. It was like a moth to flame with another part of her feeling the need to run. She was, unwillingly, being drawn in. They were clearly dangerous and trust was certainly a big issue for her. She couldn’t remember much from her early life and she didn’t really know what age she was. What she did know, was that it was very hard for someone to get the drop on her and that she should probably have been dead a long, long time ago.  
 Pulling herself out of her head, she staggered to a stand and surveyed her surroundings. Debris was everywhere and she was scared to check, just in case he wasn’t really as safe as she thought he’d be. But, needs must and so, she looked. The bump on his head had turned an ugly shade of purple and from what else she could see, he had a bullet wound somewhere on his torso. The only tell was a small hole in his shirt but she could see no blood from where she stood. Grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him up to rest securely on her shoulders was no easy feat, but she got the job done and set off for her base of operations, or home, if technicality is necessary. She could already hear the sound of sirens and she didn’t want to stick around. Putting either of them in a situation where they’d be questioned by the authorities was pretty close to worst case scenario at that moment. She got them out of there as fast as she could.  
 Home was nothing special. Just two rooms. One of which was the bathroom. The living room, bedroom and kitchen were all one and the same. A small, single bed set up in the corner that she could see all entrance and exit points from. A sofa in front of that, somewhat hiding it from view. The kitchenette was where the magic happened. Never ever take good food for granted!  
 She dumped him on the bed, catching his head in time to stop any more damage and then set about gathering the necessary equipment to deal with his injuries. She didn’t even stop to take her jacket off. Pulling up a small box, she sat. Turning his head, she set about wrapping an ice pack and placing it on the bump. His brows furrowed slightly which meant he could come to at any given moment. She really didn’t want to cut into his suit, so she heaved and pulled and pushed and twisted him to get him out of the jacket, finding more difficulty with the dual concealed weapons holster. Who was this guy? Life was hard enough and trying to get that thing off was the worst. The shirt, however, was a goner and she only found that out when she found both, entrance and exit wounds about halfway between his pelvis and ribcage. The tie was intact and wasn’t stained. Whether that was because it was red and she just couldn’t see it, she didn’t really care. Having folded everything up carefully, making sure nothing would crease, she wandered off. Firing up the stove top, she sat a knife across the top of a rung, heating it up in case she had to cauterise the wound. Retrieving the extensive first aid kit, some sterile, portable water and towels, she heard the whisper of fabric brushing against fabric.  
 Clamping her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she forced a breathy, “Please, don’t.” But she couldn’t breathe past that. Her heart rate sky-rocketed. Every breath she tried to take got stuck in her throat. She clutched everything to her chest, as if it were a security measure and bowed her head. She wasn’t afraid of him, not at all. She was afraid of herself, although her actions may be misleading. Taking the time to count in her head, she was met with a hand on her shoulder and a finger under her chin. A small pressure raised her head just as the fear reached its crescendo, letting a tear escape.  
 The hand slid down her arm, taking the first aid kit from her before wrapping around her wrist and pulling her hand up to settle on the man’s chest. From what she could feel, he was taking exaggerated breaths in order to help her. Following the movement with numbers, she was able to breathe again in half the time it’d normally take.  
 This was, by far, the most fearful situation she’d ever been in. She’d brought a stranger into her home and was treating his wounds, only to verge on the line between insanity, loss of bodily control and complete panic. What was she thinking? This guy could be death itself for all she knew! Or he could have set her off and that would have been bad for both of them. Where was his partner in all of this? Was she watching? Was she searching? Did she have enough faith in him to be sure he’d get out of that place on his own before it blew up? Even when he was knocked unconscious? By a fire extinguisher, of all things! Who uses a fire extinguisher as a weapon? It’s absurd. That said, being able to breathe normally again was a godsend. Going against her instincts, she opened her eyes and was met with a chin. The guy had a good five inches on her, so raising her eye to his, she contained the flinch as she met cold, steely blue. Plucking up the courage and fortifying everything within her, she found her voice was steady when she spoke.  
 “Sit on the box and let me inspect the wound. It needs to be flushed. It’s a through and through, but that’s all the knowledge I have on gunshot wounds. Extensive knowledge on stab wounds but no, the one time I need something else, I don’t have it. Don’t forget the fact that you almost sent me into an uncontrollable and unstoppable rage. Well, that’s what I think it is. I haven’t been in a situation that could cause one in the last week, and that’s not even a record. Can this day get any worse?”  
 She caught him opening his mouth, preparing a reply, and shot him a glare, “That was a rhetorical question.”  
 But, he done as he was told and sat on the box. She folded a towel in half and then folded it into the waist of his trousers. Almost absentmindedly, she attempted conversation while putting on some rubber gloves.  
 “So, what’s your name?” she enquired.  
 “47,” he replied flatly.  
 “Lucky you,” she continued. She poked and prodded at the wound on his back, trying to determine where the bleeding was coming from. Squeezing the bottle of water into the wound, she grit her teeth, hoping against all hope that he didn’t react to the sting there was sure to be. “A number for a name. I’d kill to know my own name. People call me ‘Kid’ or ‘Girly’ and I hate it. You know what it’s like? Not having an answer to the most basic and frequently asked question.” She turned away as she sighed, “Cauterisation or stitches?”  
 “What?” He’d turned around to face her.  
 She looked him in the eyes as she repeated the question slowly, dismissing the small amount of surprise he displayed. Did the guy think she was just going to do whatever she wanted and not ask his opinion? It was his body, for crying out loud. She’d had people try to use her body without her consent and there was no chance she’d ever put someone else through that if she could help it. She wouldn’t cauterise the wound without his prior knowledge, personal preparation and consent, and she certainly wouldn’t be sticking any needles anywhere he didn’t want them, even if they were to help in maintaining the cleanliness and stem the flow of blood from the wound.  
 “Stitches, please.” Was the guy dead inside? Or did he just speak deadpan all the time? She found it weird, extremely weird! To her, it seemed as if all the regular human emotions that people were supposed to show, were either buried really far down or had been removed in some way. Removing the needle from the packaging and threading it, she continued with light conversation.  
 “So, 47. Can I call you 47 or would Mr. 47 be more appropriate?” Not waiting for an answer, she ploughed on, “Please, enlighten me. Who in their right mind doesn’t see a fire extinguisher coming at them? Seriously, that bump on your head looks bad enough to warrant a concussion. Speaking of, do you feel dizzy, nauseous, lightheaded, etc.? If you do, please, for both our sakes, lie down on the bed,” she rolled her shoulders as she proceeded with the stitching. “I may be stronger than the average female but the first time lifting you was enough.” Finishing up with the first lot, she cleaned the area, dried it and applied a sterile pad and tape to cover the wound. Just as she was about to get up and move, he turned his whole body around.  
 “It wasn’t just one person. There were quite a few of them and while I was distracted, someone got too close. I won’t make the same mistake.” He was staring off at a point on the opposite wall.  
 “That’s all fine and dandy, good sir! But just so you know, your partner got out safe and relatively unharmed from what I observed. There’s something about you two…” she trailed off thoughtfully and immersed herself in flushing, cleaning and stitching the wound on his abdomen. After a solid five minutes of silence, she began again. “Don’t get me wrong, my instincts are usually spot on. They’ve gotten me out of enough bad situations to warrant credibility. But you two… You two have them all mixed up. It’s like, one second they’re pulling me towards you, and the next, they’re telling me to run. That is to say, I don’t know what to do. Do I let you walk away without answers? Left to spend the rest of my life asking myself ‘What if?’ or…” she trailed off again and this time, it wasn’t good. Shortness of breath, fuzzy vision, finger tips freezing. She knew the signs of blood loss; she just didn’t know why it was happening now. She’d been careful in her observations and hadn’t been spotted. So, no brainer there. But she was thrown by the explosion and had been too disoriented and focused on him to check herself over for injuries.  
 Falling back onto her bottom, she scrambled to pull off the gloves and then ran her hands over her torso. She couldn’t feel any liquid or exposed shrapnel. Trying to pull her jacket off, she grunted and bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood when it caught on something stuck in her body, just under rib number twelve near the spine. _Great! Just fucking great_ , she thought. _Kidney damage as well as blood loss. This is going to take more than a few hours to heal. Why does my life suck so much?_ Too deep in her own head, she failed to see 47 move so he was positioned behind her, inspecting the snagged area of the jacket. She wasn’t panicking, but it was a close thing. The only reason she was still bleeding was because there was something lodged in there.  
 “Pull it out and apply pressure. Do nothing else!” Sure, she had tonnes of scars. Her body wasn’t made for blemish-free healing, but just enough to make sure she didn’t bleed to death. “Wait! Get me two of the shakes out of the fridge before you pull it. I’m going to need them if I’m to survive this shit!” She heard a sigh as he stood.  
 “A lady should never use that kind of language, but considering the situation, I’ll let this one slide.”  
 Wow! Her brain stuttered to a halt. Did she just hear some frustration along with some amusement? Too shocked to reply, she turned her head to stare at his retreating figure. Noticing the barcode on the back of his head, she made a mental note to question him on it.  
 “Hurry up, 47. Whatever is keeping the wound open could have nicked an artery. I’m not sure about you, but I’m not up for cleaning arterial spray off the furniture,” she called. Finally gaining some clarity, she lay face down on the floor as two water bottles containing her concentrated nutrient shakes entered her field of vision. Taking them, she uncapped them both before downing the contents as quickly as she could. 47 didn’t give any warnings before she felt her flesh being torn. Whatever had penetrated her skin, was something akin to a barbed arrowhead and neither of them knew it until she let out a garbled scream through a tightly clenched jaw and pursed lips. Thankfully, 47 had a towel ready and applied pressure directly to the injury. Painful? Just a bit. Breathing roughly through her nose, she pressed her forehead to the floor and promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep writing, fangirling/fanboying and reading. Always, ALWAYS reading!! If there's anything that Hitman, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Divergent, etc .. have taught me, it's that our world isn't the only world out there, there are MILLIONS!! But instead of having to look up at the stars, we've just gotta turn the page.

47 didn’t know what had transpired after he’d been knocked unconscious. What he did know, was that he was on a relatively narrow bed of some sort, he was shirtless, unarmed and that there was something cold on the left side of his head. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to his surroundings. Someone, slight and extremely light on their feet, was moving through the area with ease and familiarity. He wouldn’t have picked up on it if he hadn’t heard the sounds of doors opening and closing or the rustling of plastic packaging. Knowing that their attention was elsewhere, he opened his eyes, removed whatever the cold thing was and took in the few surroundings that he could see.   
 The back of a small, well-worn sofa was roughly a foot and a half to his left and a dark grey wall directly on his right. The ceiling was painted white and there was what looked to be a wooden door about four feet from the foot of the bed. Lifting his head and shoulders off the bed with a slight twinge in his abdomen, he looked to his left and caught a small, extensively clean kitchenette from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t make out the entirety of the figure crouched at one of the small, floor-based cupboards but the long, light brown coloured hair made him assume that the figure was, in fact, female. He lay back down just as the figure stood and moved further away from him. As soon as whoever it was, was far enough away, he stood gracefully and fell into stealth. But with everything in such close quarters, had it not been for the bedsheets or the sofa, he wasn’t sure which, the person wouldn’t have assumed he was awake. Seeing the person tense up, back ramrod straight, arms pulled into the chest, he hesitated.  
 That was not normal human behaviour. Normal humans couldn’t hear _that_ well; he’d barely heard it.  
 “Please, don’t,” it was whispered but he heard it perfectly. It gave him further pause. His first thought was that she was like him, but that couldn’t be. He’d destroyed all of the clones. He hadn’t found anything regarding another female within the experiments. Only Katia, and that took an extensive amount of research and espionage. Forcing himself out of the memories, he noticed that she was struggling to breathe. People don’t panic silently, so this was a new experience for him.  
 Being quick and precise, he stepped in front of her and put a hand on her shoulder. She was a few inches smaller than him, with a slight but athletic build. Fair skinned, round faced with slightly sunken cheeks, high cheek bones, freckles sprinkled unevenly, almost non-existent lashes. She also sported a prominent cupid’s bow as well as a full lower lip. Taking in the details of her face, he ran a hand down her arm, meant for comfort. Something he was not at all good at. Removing the first aid kit, he set it down and gently clasped his hand around her wrist, guiding it up to settle on his chest. Taking an exceptionally deep breath and letting it out slowly, he repeated the process until her breathing had evened out, resembling normal.   
 With her hand still on his chest, he watched as she took a deeper breath and opened her eyes. He observed her closely, watching for any signs that this could go bad and finding none, he was surprised when she met his eyes head on. Not many people had the courage so it was a comfort to know that even in the face of death, she was not afraid to greet it. Had he been anything other than professional, his breath would have been stolen, for she had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Piercing, yet warm and ringed with black. He’d only ever witnessed eyes like that once; when he was a child.  
 This particular female, he had seen through a tiny window that he wasn’t supposed to be looking through. He caught her eye almost immediately and she’d smiled at him. A small, genuine smile and that was huge considering their accommodations.   
 If his memories served him right, he was looking at another clone. He’d overheard two people talking about female clones and an explosion. Apparently all of the female clones had perished but, it couldn’t be possible. He had the evidence standing directly in front of him, so why were they speaking deceptively? Did they know he was there? Did they plan for having eavesdroppers?   
 On the outside, he showed cool indifference and pulled away to sit down, barely registering her words. On the inside, however, was another story. His heart was pounding and his mind was going as fast as it possibly could.   
 Going through every detail of the day he killed one of his creators, he’d finally come to the realisation that he had been idiotic. He was trained to observe his surroundings and he missed the other door. How could he have missed it? Was she in there? Did she suffer any more than he had at the hands of Ort-Meyer? How did she get out? Better yet, how did she survive? Was it all a lie? Did her sisters die in an explosion? How many still lived? Was she the only one? He had to find out! He owed her that much.  
 After Litvenko had sacrificed himself, he couldn’t speak to anyone that was responsible for his creation. No one trustworthy. He’d destroyed Ort-Meyer’s research when he’d killed him and most of the 48’s. Litvenko had destroyed all of his research when he went into hiding. And so, the only person he could ask, was the girl, until she started talking about herself.  
 He remembered what it was like; to have no knowledge of where you came from, who you are. But, he’d figured out his skills by himself, becoming a freelance assassin and giving himself a purpose. Sure, he killed people in exchange for money, but it was what he was good at. Her, he was getting tired of calling her that. She deserved a name, damn it! But her, she’d practically hidden herself away from the world and he had to find out why.  
 The woman scrambling away from him and practically tearing her clothes off snapped him out of his head. The gloves were gone and she was trying to remove her coat with very little luck. If the grunt was anything to go by, he’d say she was in pain and that’s when he got a whiff of something with a metallic tang to it. She was bleeding, somewhat heavily from somewhere and by the looks of things, whatever had happened had pinned her coat to her back. Trying to look like he wasn’t rushing himself was going great because she wasn’t even paying attention.   
 Crouching behind her, he glimpsed a spark of light bouncing off of something shiny and metal.   
 “Pull it out and apply pressure. Do nothing else!” She must have been trying to sound strong but it came out a little strained. And just as he reached the intrusive object, she spoke up again.  
 “Wait! Get me two shakes out of the fridge before you pull it. I’m going to need them if I’m to survive this shit!” He sighed. That kind of language did not suit a female of any kind. It just wasn’t right, but coming from her it sounded natural. Giving her a pass for a minor offence in his book was the extent of his generosity at the moment. He still had to remove the debris. Retrieving the items, she’d demanded, he handed them over and waited until she was finished. Had he known it’d cause more damage, he’d have prepared her for it. But he couldn’t have predicted misshapen, twisted together and hooked pieces of chain link fence. To fall on that? If you didn’t have back luck, you’d have no luck. How it cut into her body as much as it did, he didn’t know, but he could guess.  
 Applying pressure was no big deal, he just had to use a little bit of his own weight until the bleeding slowed down enough. He was quite shocked to find that his inner monologue kept him from noticing her unconsciousness the moment it happened. Keeping steady pressure for a further ten minutes, he gently lifted the towel to get a look at the wound. Surprisingly, it’d already healed some and that made his head spin again. What were those ‘Doctors’ doing to the females? Healing far more advanced than his own could not have come without a hefty price. Death by a thousand cuts was the first thing to scream at him. They wouldn’t have, would they?   
 It was Ort-Meyer, of course he would have. If he could bring the man back to life just to exact revenge for the misdeeds this woman had suffered through, he’d have done it in a heartbeat and he would have prolonged it for as long as he could, making it as painful as he could. That man was the devil incarnate, no doubt about it.   
 She had no scars or blemishes on her face, so they had to be elsewhere. And for the first time in his life, he’d have admitted he was scared if there was anyone there who could have asked. If it was as bad as he feared, he’d bring them all down. Every. Last. One of them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short today, but I can safely say that it wasn't my fault. My 3 year old has way too much energy and I'm dead on my feet. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to post as soon as I possibly can, although it may have to wait until the weekend. I'm off to get myself some very well earned rest!


End file.
